The Wish Belly: Part XIX
Photo courtesy of Shane Kimberlin
April 21, 2023
Shane Kimberlin
The Wish Belly is an original fiction serial. If you missed prior installments, you can catch up on our website: copperriv- errecord.net/tributaries.
I pondered Fitto’s riddle:
‘If you use it too much, you’ll lose it, but if you don’t use it at all, you’ve lost it all the same’”
I repeat, I have never liked riddles.
“What do you think?” Fitto said.
“It is too vague,” said Leo.
“What in tarnation are you talkin’ about? Back home in Naples, this riddle killed, I tell ya, killed with the other drawings.”
I squinted.
“You’re from Naples?” “Yeah, of course, I’m from Naples. ‘Fittto.’ Eye-Talian.”
“How is this?” said Leo, “you are a drawing. Weren’t you drawn here?”
I am one hundred percent Naples. I’ll have you know I was not drawn here originally, nor did I yet possess this ridiculous, yet delightful, Southern accent. I began as a face, thousands of years ago on a wall in Naples. It was in a fancy restaurant called Piccolo Cesare.”
“They had restaurants?” said Leo.
“Who is ‘they?’ Yes, people ate food, goodness. That’s the problem with this millennium’s education system. They just don’t teach the grande Latin anymore. Anyway, I was a face and then the restaurant collapsed. Then it was a spa. Then a cult den. A warehouse. Den of thieves. Mortuary. Prison. Basket shop.”
Fitto stared off into the distance.
‘Hey,” I finally said.
“Oh, howdy,” said Fitto, startled, “Sorry, flashback. So many baskets. Anyway, then it got raided and, as they say in the Northern neck of that-there faraway woods, ‘Yadda yadda yadda.’ Then the building was demolished. I was friends with other drawings. It was hard to see ‘em go. Practically brothers. And sisters. And cousins. And swear words.”
“How did you last so long in that building? Who made you?” said Leo.
“I don’t know who made me. Must have been a youngin’. Bored, I reckon, bored as the noonday moon, so he scratched me into the wall and, presto, I began. We all began that way in that room. Out of boredom. Great boredom from the staff. From the customers. We were in the loo, see, the great loo, the bathroom walls of Piccolo Cesare.”
“Okay,” I said, “So you moved to-”
“-So I got moved up to ol’ England and ended up as a gravestone there. The townsfolk used to rub vinegar on me to ward off the plague. Fun folks, all of em.
They could ring around a rosie like nobody’s business. That’s the honest truth.”
“This has been just a grand, grand story,” said Leo, “but maybe we can pass through now?”
“Hey, y’all haven’t answered the riddle. Your cat tricks won’t work on me.” “So, wait, you ended up in England?”
“Yeah, ol’ Merry England. I’ll tell you what, this place can RAIN. You feel me? It rained cats and dogs, hats and tree trunks, just a wild commotion of reckless water falling from sure-ain’t-heaven, all while they built this hallway for their secret society. Not a popular one.”
“So how are you here now?”
“Whaddya mean?” “Here. In the United States. You know, ‘across the pond?’ How did you leave England?”
“What?” “What?” “Did I?” “What?”
“We’re in England right now.”
Leo and I looked at each other.
“So,” Fitto continued, “where are you heading, if you don’t mind me asking?”
I said, “Back down the hall from the college cafe. We walked out of here just a few days ago.”
“‘Kay. Now then, hold your plural horse THERE for just one minute. I want to ask you a question: did you NOW?”
“What?”
Fitto smiled.
“You sure you’re going down the same hall? Because, I reckon, if you’re walking down that SAME hall, how would you be in England right now?
“I don’t understand.”
“Listen, here, go walk down the hall. Ain’t far.”
Leo and I did as he said and walked back.
“Do you notice there’s more light than before?” said Leo.
“And noise,” I said.
Was there a commotion outside of Highway Blues?
How did Highway Blues get so close?
As we turned an unrecognized corner, we heard voices.
“Hey, yep, one Number Five for the bangers and mash.”
We were in a large room, standing in an open doorway. Near us stood two doors with signs above that read “BATHROOMS.” People stood in a long winding line. A lady wearing bright red stood behind a counter. Loud hissing noises came from the far end. Big windows poured in light, and the background of a vibrant city, cars driving on the wrong side of the road. Ac- cents. TVs hung high on a wall, played BBC news.
“It’s a fast-food restaurant,” I said.
Leo and I ran outside. Sidewalks, tall buildings, exhaust from cabs, and many knit caps. A newspaper stand stood nearby with TIMES OF LONDON and THE GUARDIAN for sale.
“We’re in London,” said Leo.
We ran back inside. Some people in line turned their necks and stared. We ran back down the hall by the bathrooms.
Fitto said, “Well howdy folks, welcome to...oh, wait, it’s you. Back so soon? You gonna solve my riddle now?”
“We’re in London.”
“Yep, you are. L-Town. Londo. The Big Smoke”
“How are we in London?”
“Why would I know? I’m a drawing.”
“And why do you talk like that?”
“Talk like what?”
“Like a Southerner.” “Huh? Like the Isle of Wight?”
“No, like an American.” “A South American?” “No. Someone from the United States. From the Deep South.”
Fitto looked at us curiously. Writing lay etched on the farther right side of Fitto’s rocking chair, saying, in big bold scratches letters, “WASSUP.” There was a house in the distance drawn in a Victorian style. A sketch of a frisbee lay in mid-air, unmoving.
“The accent,” said Fritto, “was something I picked up after I picked up this rocking chair and straw hat. It just overwhelmed me, like a spirit of Southern charm overtook my very non-existent bones. See, every time someone draws a new thing on the rocks, it can become an item, you know, something for me to use.”
“Or if it’s drawn on top of me, or an addition on me, that I become something different. Stronger, more real, and dextrous. Like, take for instance, this rocking chair. Before, it was just a normal chair. And I sat on it, and didn’t get to rock at all. Life sure was boring. But someone, a bright young kid who wandered in here from Odessa, he scratched in the rocking chair.
“What about random scratches? Doesn’t anyone try to just do some vandalism?”
Fitto thought for a second.
“Oh, sure. But I don’t let it bring me down. I use the lines. I use ‘em. They get me richer definition, more shadow work. Real cool like.”
“‘Kid from Odessa?’” said Leo.
“Ah, what?” Fitto said.
“You said, ‘a bright young kid from Odessa’ came in here.”
“Oh, yeah, he did.”
“Strange how a kid from Odessa came in here. I am from Odessa as well.”
“Oh, are y’all travelin’ from Odessa? Is that where you came from just now?”
“What do you mean?” I said, “Aren’t we in London?” “Well,” said Fritto, “you see, I’M in London, but who knows what hall you came down?”
“I don’t understand.” Fitto sighed.
“Okay, so, this wall that stands before you,” said Fitto, “is sometimes, if the stars are just right and wind blowing proper, the end of every single hall.”
“‘Every single hall?’”
“Ever. All the halls that are happening right now, all the halls that exist at this moment in time. Yes. It’s a roll of the dice. You just happened to be lucky. But where we stand right now is in the fast food restaurant Charmy Chunks in North London, England. Sort of. Folks who eat at delectable Charmy Chunks don’t even get to see me, normally. They just see the break room. But I’ve had folks from all over the world come to this dead end. It’s a wild luck of the draw, pardner.”
“So, if we had left,” I said, “there is a good chance we couldn’t have come back?”
“You did leave,” said Fit-to, “and then you came back in again. Sometimes that doesn’t happen. I reckon one in a billion as chances go. It all depends.”
“Did you cause this?”
“Ha,” said Fitto, “It’s not up to me. It just happens, and it so happens y’all have some extraordinary luck.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You think I do? I’m a drawing, for Pete’s sake. But I’m surprised you’re back. Between you, me, and the fencepost, I wanted y’all to leave because I knew you couldn’t solve my riddle, and you were wasting my time. I say this in love. But I was too hasty. I’m glad y’all are here. I got bored quick.”
“Okay.”
“So, enough explanations about basic real-world logistics. You figure out my riddle?”
“What happens,” said Leo, “if we solve this riddle?”
“It’s simple. You get to go exactly where you need to go.”
“How do you know where we need to go?”
“I don’t,” said Fitto, “but I will once you solve my riddle.”
I have never liked riddles.
Wish Belly Installments: